as often as we hear that man wants to do is wage war, the chilean mine rescue really makes you feel that maybe globalization/technology can actually make us care about one another and that sometimes intrinsic rewards are the best ones of all.
this has got to be up there next to the moon landing in ‘69 and the berlin wall coming down in the pantheon of “televised moments of man coming together”
i finally feel able to listen to morrissey/the smiths without feeling bad
(well, without feeling the wrong kind of bad)
and we’re shaking hands
“goodnight”
so politely.
now my heart is full/
and i just can’t explain/
so i won’t even try to.
do you want ants? because this is how you get ants
a peacocked man waltzes into a strip mall thrift store
screams at a stranger perusing the sport coats
“this my area, ma’fucker, best step the fuck back”
picks up a jacket the color of radish-hued baby vomit
pairs it with one of the myriad scarves
he has brought with him into the store
in a crisp christmas gift bag
(mid-march, no less)
housed in a handbasket not provided by this particular establishment
“yeah, this shit gon’ work…get the lapels slimmed down…rock the shit out of it with this here flair”
a woman stutters over to him
tentatively, haltingly, nervously,
(it’s hard to tell if she’s more scared of her own shadow or of him)
clutching
squeezing
a vermillion-and-creme hooped sweater
“i really like this, daddy”
“whatever. leave me the fuck alone, trying to figure this shit out”
“daddy, i want this. can’t i get this? i really like this. it’s still cold at night and it would be nice to have. it goes with my clothes and most of those are beat up anyway, so i thought it was time for something new ”
a glance,
a stare,
a glare
“who the fuck do you think you is, bitch? I don’t gets my money for you to ma’fucking blow it on ugly shit like that. something new? take that shit to someone who give a fuck”
defeated astoundingly
masterfully
absolutely
she holds her head up high
walks across the entire store
(which may as well be times square, open to the crossfire of bystanders pretending not to see while trying to close their mouths)
and puts it delicately back
in the right section
on the right rack
in the exact color-coordinated spot
from whence it never came.
“the fuck you looking at? you’ll be fucking looking at a fist in your face if you don’t divert your fucking eyes, fuckface. i run this shit, and ma’fuckas ain’t lookin at my bitch without fucking payin me”
we are all ashamed, but for different reasons.
